Red Riding Hood
by fwuzzfwuzz
Summary: A flash of red hair, Clary raced through the forest away from her murderous, psychopathic father, only to run head first into the big bad wolf, Luke Garroway. Luke takes in the injured girl, hoping to return her to her family when she is better. Clary is afraid to trust a man that may be a paid killer her father sent. AU/All Human Eventual Jace/Clary
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Unbeta'ed but a start. There really are no long Luke-centric fics, and I really wanted something that explored his and Clary's relationship. I'm hoping more stories are written about Luke, because I think he is a fantastic character and he's not hard on the eyes.

This is an all human story, AU – Luke is not a werewolf in the story, but I just like the idea of the title. Its set in modern times, but a little backwoodsy. I hope you enjoy!

**Red Riding Hood**

The moon was full, hanging over the dusty sky, above the trees, lighting up the ground where Clary was on her knees. In front of her, a brick two story house, with large gothic windows overlooked her desperate display. The house was called haunted by any child who dared to travel north, a few miles out of the city, to the forests. it was called the Morgensten's by the adults.

Occasionally, the adults would add pitying adjectives or cluck their tongues. It was because a child without a mother, a mother who was said to have killed herself, was most certainly someone to pity.

Clary was hoping for pity, she was hoping for any emotion from the impassive face staring down on her. Her hair was hanging limply, wet with grime over her face and her nails were caked with dirt. She lifted a shaking hand to pull her lank hair out of her face. This is the first time she had seen outside in a week. Even the light from the moon stung her eyes.

"Please, please, I-I won't do it again." She begged with her eyes shining bright. The fate of her mother's was hers. She often thought of death, more often when trapped in a basement for a week. She thought she could walk peacefully into it, like the lady of the lake walked serenely in water.

Her heart pushed her forward, her nerves fried her inhibitions, and all she could do was beg. The man above her stared down with his lips curling in disgust.

His blonde hair was clean, perfectly coifed, longish, his eyes, a cold black – they flicked at Clary and the woods, unconcerned. He was wearing his long overcoat, with black hiking boots, shiny with the blood and dirt of his last hunt. He was, for the lack of better terms, handsome. Every expression, meant to be ugly, was small and rippled effortlessly across his face.

In his hands were chains, the weight pulled his arms low, they swung dangerously with his every movement. They were the evidence of Clary's betrayal.

Clary watched them swing. She glanced at the dark bruises on her arms, and quickly returned her attention to the metal, afraid to repeat the beginning of the week

He started towards her and Clary whimpered. "Look at you, afraid of even a slight movement." He laughed, "You thought you were brave. All I see is a coward." He twisted the chains in his hands as if he was wringing a neck. Clary shivered, her hands were raised defensively in front of her.

She had been mostly left alone when she was thrown into the basement for a week. Nothing but water, and the days she got food, it was only stale bread. He called it her reflection week or at least that was what he had called it all the times before he had taken her down there. This time he had thrown her down in the dank basement with no preamble, and left her.

"You think that I would let you go, just as you did that woman." He spat. His face had a long scar from the top of his forehead, running down his nose, all the way to his chin. It contorted along his angry countenance.

Clary trembled, moving back across the dirt floor with every step Valentine made. A week ago, she found the maid, Rebecca, in Valentine's room, chained to the bed posts, crying. The same woman who had comforted her in her tears, after her mother died, vulnerable and in pain.

Valentine has said that she had gone on vacation. The shock of seeing her, Clary barely processed unchaining her by picking the locks. In minutes she was free, and Clary had her exit at the window.

She didn't understand the repercussions until she saw her brother, with a shocked look on his face, in the doorway. At first she thought he was outraged at seeing their maid locked in their father's room. But then he spun on his foot, and ran out, her heart had sunk.

It wasn't long till Valentine had stalked in the room, cursing her. He had grabbed her by the hair, dragged her to the basement, and threw her in. She wondered if this was how her mother died.

_Mother._

Clary missed her mother's warm arms around her, whispering in her ears comforting words. She could almost feel her closeness as she inched closer and closer to death.

Clary was a prisoner, just the same as Rebecca, just the same as her mother.

"You think you saved her didn't you?" He said with a raised eyebrow, Valentine's tone bordered on patronizing. He took a step forward, the chains tinkling with every step.

Clary eyebrows drew together. What could he mean by asking those questions? He always hid lies into truths and truths into lies, only to examine the reaction. Her stomach turned and she looked at the part of the wood that Rebecca had disappeared into. "I couldn't let her die." She whispered.

Valentine stopped, looked up to the sky with a long, pondering stare. "I wouldn't have killed her," he said absently, "just scared her a little from stealing from me." Valentine looked at her with cold eyes. She felt anger rise up in her; she would not let him lie like this. Twist what she did.

"You're a liar!" She shouted.

"You really should learn to hold your tongue." He took a quick, menacing step towards her. "I didn't enjoy killing her, but you left me with no choice when you freed her."

"Shut up!" She didn't care what he said; she didn't care about his lies anymore. She was just his plaything, and she refused to be played with any longer. She loved Rebecca. All the times Rebecca had taken care of her, when she nursed her wounds, her hugs and comfort. In house so cold, she was the only warmth in it for years.

"I saw her-," Clary's voice broke, her face felt hot, and her heart was beating quicker. "She got past the woods." Images of Rebecca's slight figure running quickly down the path to the woods flashed in Clary's mind.

"She's dead, dear." He dropped the chains right next to Clary's prone form. They looked like they were covered in grease. They rolled on the grass and stilled, like a snake enticing her. She shakily reached her hand out and touched them. On her fingers, she saw they were coated with blood. Clary shook her head repeatedly, gaping in disbelief.

"No!" She could barely breathe; she clenched her fist trying to stop herself from screaming. A hiccup escaped her mouth.

"Sebastian!" Valentine yelled out, and Clary's dark haired brother appeared from the back door of their house. Clary would do anything to jump up and strangle him; she glared at him with contempt. He called her a traitor, but Rebecca had loved him to, she had comforted him to. This is how he betrayed her, he killed her with Valentine.

"Yes, Dad?" Sebastian had black hair, about the same length as his father. It hung over his eyes, his lips dark red, twisted into a smile.

Rage bubbled up in her throat, and tears pricked her eyes. She grabbed the chains and with all her strength threw them towards Valentine. "I hope you both go to hell. I hope you both die!"

Valentine turned to her, his face darkened. A few quick strides, and he slapped her across the face, "You know nothing about hell. But you will, God hates traitors, conspirators, you are like Lucifer, all pride. Just like your mother." He knelt down and grabbed her by the neck, "But your mother wrote her ticket to hell when she killed herself didn't she?"

Clary could taste the metallic blood in her mouth, "You killed her." She said and spat in his face. He growled, and pushed her head to the dirt. She struggled to break free.

"I will make sure those are your last words." He whacked her head against the ground, and got up, stalking to the house. Clary was on fire with pain, her head pulsing, and her eyes disoriented.

"Take a gun from the rack and kill her." He said. He stomped up the steps, giving her a snarl, "She's a traitor. No daughter of mine."

Clary felt numb to her own death. She looked on hopelessly to her brother who, for once, looked startled. He looked like her brother, the one she remembered from childhood. The one she loved. He looked to Valentine, "Dad?"

Valentine grabbed him by the front of his shirt, "Don't question me," He growled, "Do it. Take her to the woods."

Sebastian swallowed hard and nodded. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked a chest full of guns that was lying on the porch. He picked a shotgun with a trembling hand, and then shut the case with a snap.

Sebastian approached her in a few quick steps and Clary moved back as far as she could on her feet, "Sebastian, please." His face hardened more, and he grabbed her by the arm, hauling her up.

"Come on, traitor." He looked so much like Valentine with that snarling face. She wished she could rip it off, to find the boy she knew was there. He didn't even look at her, just pulling her forward.

There was a time when she and him would run outside and play for hours. Sebastian had always been interested in hunting, and he would throw rocks at birds saying that he could knock one out of the sky. Clary remembered taunting him that he could not, secretly afraid of one of the poor birds dying.

Now she was his bird, and her very movements were like a carrot to a rabbit. She wondered if Sebastian could be like her father. Did he know that his mother was no suicide, did he know how to kill her like their father did to their mother.

His hand was so tight around her arm, she could feel the stings of newly made cuts.

They entered the dense woods, Sebastian walking quickly, still holding Clary by the arm. Clary struggled to not trip over every rock and root that came in direction with her wobbly feet.

In the hour of her death, she vaguely wondered if she could have bottle of water. Her mouth felt dry, and her throat was burning.

After about fifteen minutes, Sebastian threw her roughly to the ground. It didn't hurt the bruises, the cuts; they all just jumbled together in one large ache.

His face was impassive, staring down at her. He didn't look at her like a brother. He looked at her like a passing acquaintance, barely a flicker of recognition.

"You don't have to do this Sebastian, please." She pleaded. Her whole body was tense and her hands rose protectively in front of her. She felt like she was talking to someone else entirely.

Sebastian took the safety off the gun. Clary noted that his hands were shaking, he fumbled to straighten the gun, and aim. Clary dropped her arms, staring it down, tears dropping to the forest floor.

"You're dead to me Clary." Sebastian said his voice steady. Clary tensed, readying to be killed, taking long deep breaths.

"But, your blood will not be on my hands." Sebastian muttered. Clary froze, her eyes widened and suddenly there was a loud bang. The shot made her ears ring, and she fell on her butt. She trembled from the rush of adrenaline.

Sebastian glared at her, "Go, and don't ever return."

Clary shook herself from shock and stumbled up. She started running as fast as she could and as far as she could get. The trees were so close together that they practically covered the moon, everything was so dark.

She ran till her lungs burned, till her lips were so chapped they bled. She ran through the path around the mountain, past the lake where she remembered reading with her mother, past the cave where Sebastian and she had their secret clubhouse.

She ran through the open fields where she killed her first deer and cried. That was when her father forced her to eat only deer for several weeks, and slapped her across the face when she so much shed a tear about it.

She ran till she could no longer see familiar landmarks, the moon was lower in the sky, and sun began to peek out into the horizon. The woods had gone on for miles, she stumbled and fell over a dip in a hill for the hundredth time, but this time she didn't get up.

He didn't kill her with a gun, but she would die here anyways. Then maybe her death would still save someone. If father knew that Sebastian let her live, he would be in a world of pain.

She licked her lips, wishing she had anything, food or water. She breathed heavily wishing she had gathered more water from the lake. She was too exhausted to search for any more. The wet grass was soft and soothing against the cuts on her knees.

She rubbed her eyes and curled into a fetal position, her hair falling over her face. Slowly, her eyes crept closed, bringing her into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Suddenly, there was a large crack, Clary jolted awake at the sound and realized that it was thunder. It started to rain; the droplets were cold, chilling her. She cupped her hands and they filled with water. She drank as much as she could, as quickly as she could. She ignored her shivering hands and overwhelming headache.

After her thirst was sated, she looked to the clouds. The sun was hidden by them but it was obvious to her that she had been asleep for at least a few hours. Her whole body was muddy from lying in the ditch during the rain.

Even in her exhaustion, she knew she needed to keep moving, to find cover. She willed herself up and shook the mud from her clothes. She peered out to the north, contemplating the direction.

Then she heard the sound of sticks breaking, and she whirled around. She quickly scanned the ground and grabbed the first rock she could find. It was fist sized, and she held it up with an anxious gaze into the woods.

Out of the heavily wooded area came a man, wearing a flannel shirt and tattered pair of jeans. His hair was floppy and black, curling over the edges of his ears. He had a beard that hid the grim line of his mouth. He was eyeing her with wariness, and she was backing quickly away, tightening her hold on the rock. He was tall, well built, and most likely in his mid to late thirties.

Did her father send him to kill her? Her eyes flitted around the open, hilly valley to the broken, unbeaten paths in every direction.

She glanced at him, he had stopped approaching her. He brought his hands slowly up, his eyes examining her carefully, "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you."

Clary scoffed, did this work on every girl he was sent to kill?

"Stay away from me." Her voice was raspy from unuse.

"You're bleeding." He said matter-of-factly, looking first at her legs, then at her arms, and then narrowing his gaze at the rock.

She brought her other arm up, and hugged her torso, "I'll kill you!"

The man frowned, "Put the rock down, you need medical attention." He took a step forward and she sharply pulled back and threw the rock as hard as she could. It whizzed towards him and he quickly side stepped, yelling out in surprise.

Realizing she missed, she dropped to the floor in an attempt to find another stone. After a second, she found her hands meeting the smooth leather toes of a pair of brown boots. Her head jerked up to see the man standing there, relaxed with his thumbs linked into his pockets, but with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Nice throw, but you've got bad aim." Clary was reminded of her brother yelling out, "Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me." She remembered fake retching and then chasing after him. She shook her head; it hurt to think about him.

She examined the man's long legs, even in the baggy flannel; she could see the defined muscles of his arms. She couldn't out run him, she couldn't even scratch him.

She wondered why he wasn't killing her, and she feared that he might torture her, that he might do worse things. She pulled back, knowing there are worse fates than death.

Clary's breath rose sharp and quick into her chest.

"Hey, hey calm down." The man quickly took a step back, his eyes alarmed. A lock of black hair dropped in front of his eyes and he pushed it away, "I just saw you from my cabin over there." He pointed out to a brown speck of a house over the rolling hills, surrounded by the trees. "I thought you might want some place to dry off."

Her lungs started to burn, and her feet felt numb. As the rain drenched her clothes further, she curled her knees closer to herself, trying to breathe. This was the worst time to have a panic attack; she now couldn't feel her hands from the lack of oxygen. She screwed her eyes shut trying to control her breathing.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she tensed. Her fingers gripped tighter on herself. She glanced up and saw pity, openly on the stranger's face. Would he let her go, just as Sebastian did? She buried her head into her arms again.

"Please, leave me alone." She pleaded, muffled through her arms. Clary could pull a tough act most of the time, but the mixture of exhaustion and shame bowled over any shred of dignity.

"Breathe, you need to breathe." She heard him huff with frustration, "Before you faint." He took slow steady breaths, and she copied him. She stretched her fingers, seeing the color return to them.

She shivered, and her eyes peaked out from her folded arms. The man was as soaked as her, but he wasn't covered in mud. He was kneeling by her, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. With Valentine, there were always layers to his expression, confusion could be seen, but under that was manipulative smiles, and under that a slow burning anger.

With this man, everything was plain on his face. His unwavering focus on her was unsettling and she wanted nothing more than to pull away from his grip.

"I'm ok." Her voice sounded small, even to herself – it was shaking with barely suppressed emotion.

She heard him shift around her, and she could feel him right beside her. He was so close, that only one movement, he could snap her neck. The warmth of his body was almost a tease to her cold, shivering one. She stiffened, feeling herself unconsciously lean away from him.

"Now, I'm going to be straight with you." His voice rumbled against her. It bordered on a stern tone, "I'm not leaving you here." Clary jumped a bit at this, bringing her head up – her red hair sticking to her face.

"I was just leaving." Clary replied.

"You have some bad cuts there and a nasty bump on your head." He looked out suspiciously in the woods, "I reckon whoever did this is still out there." He looked at her, as if daring her to lie. She nearly rolled her eyes. Of course, he knew all this stuff. He was going to kill her.

Clary was silent.

He shook his head, "I've seen enough people die. I don't want to add a kid drowning a few hundred feet from my house to that list." His eyes were dark, and guarded – for a moment he seem stuck in another time, a deep set frown on his face

"I'm fifteen." That was all she could say, because even in her hypothermic state, she wasn't going to let herself be called a kid. Children were seen and not heard, and all decisions were taken from their hands. The thought of that scared her.

The man looked puzzled, "Well, sure – you look it, I guess." Clary pursed her lips, "I'm not a kid."  
Again, her voice was still small and shaky, but the steely resolve flashed in her eyes.

He chuckled, "Well, you're just the age for a damsel in distress – right princess?"

Clary scrunched up her nose in disgust; he talked to her like she was five. At that moment, she was overcome with a fit of sneezing; she brought her arm to her nose and wiped it across. She paused looking at the man, staring as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. She dropped her arm, sniffing miserably.

"I can take care of myself." Finally, her voice sounded stronger, she stared at him, silent and unmovable.

The man just frowned, "I don't doubt that." He didn't move, and Clary felt her jaw clench, annoyed at his presence. She just needed to get to the woods; she could find a cave and be fine. She didn't need anyone's help, especially a paid killer.

"Well." He sighed, "Go on then, I won't hold you here. I'd like you off my property." He said firmly while getting up. He brushed the excess mud off his pants.

Clary's mouth dropped open. She was a little startled at the change of plans. She was gearing up for a long argument, even force. He looked at her expectantly, as if to say "Why are you still here?"

Clary felt a little anxious to have to get up so soon, without any food in her body and only a couple hours of sleep, she really just wanted to lie in this field a little longer. Even in the freezing rain, it still seemed like a viable option.

She reluctantly uncurled, her feet and hands tingling uncomfortably from being held so tightly together.

She got up slowly, but even then the landscape swayed wobbly from left to right, she stumbled to get her balance and took a shaky breath. She paused, closing her eyes tightly, willing the steady thrum of her headache away.

"Are you just going to stand there?" He said harshly, his voice completely changed – a thin layer of derision lacing his words.

"I'm leaving!" She said, frustrated at her wobbling legs and this man's impatience. She lifted her chin up, her red hair hanging from her head like a drenched match. She took another step, again stumbling but still keeping up. "Just go back to your damn cabin."

"So you can sleep in my fields like a vagrant." He snorted, "I don't need some thief, stealing my crops."

Clary was startled by this. She actually looked, really looked at the field to see several lines of crops. Alf-Alfa, Corn stalks, and what look like lines of tomato vines were spread out across the acres of land. Her stomach grumbled and now she really wished he would leave, so that she could do the very thing he worried about.

She pushed herself to take another step, a sharp pain shot up her leg and she bent over, rubbing her hand over her leg.

"This is you taking care of yourself? Are you even able to walk?" He bit out. She cursed him under her breath.

Clary looked at him, his hands folded over his chest and his face tight and angry. She lifted her body straight, ignoring the hammering aches all over her body, and resolutely took a few steps. Her feet then treacherously gave way and she fell to her knees. She took heaving breaths, she couldn't even walk away – she was going to die.

"Come on." She heard the man say, and she felt him grab her by the arms and haul her to her feet. "Let's get out of this rain."

"No." She pushed weakly against him, but his hand stayed firmly around her arm, as he practically dragged her a few feet forward. "Stop!" She said louder, digging her heels into the dirt.

He pinched his lips together. "You can argue with me about this in the house."

Clary's eye flickered to the house, and she knew if he wasn't going to kill her out in the public, he was most definitely going to kill her there.

He dragged her a few more steps, and Clary dropped her weight like a toddler not wanting to leave a candy store. The man grunted at the sudden change of weight and let go of her.

He looked down, with narrowed eyes, "You're really going to do this? Do you have any sense of self-preservation?" He asked with a thunderous expression on his face.

Clary didn't say anything as she tried to keep control of her breathing. Her legs began to shoot hot pain more frequently up her thighs.

"You're just a child; you shouldn't be here by yourself. And you obviously keep yourself from getting hurt."

Regardless of her aches, she kicked mud in his direction "fuck you!" If he thought she was going down without a fight, he was wrong.

"Did you run away?" He spat out, "Selfish girl, probably worrying your parents' sick!"

Her mother flashed in her mind, the beautiful woman who was always there. Always wearing bruises on her pale skin like a badge of honor. She would read to Clary every night about princesses who escaped evil hands to find love. And her heart ached to be held by her mother again, to see the creased face filled with concern and love at every one of Clary's problems.

Her heart ached for Rebecca, the strong woman who stayed with Clary, even when her mother died. It ached for her brother, who turned to his father for recognition and left his sister to die. It ached for herself, because she wasn't strong enough.

A sob suddenly escaped her throat, bubbling up to an uncontrolled hiccup of a cry and suddenly she couldn't stop. Tears started pouring down her reddened face, and she heaved with smothered wails. "M-Mom" Was all she could say. She wanted to yell for her mom to come, to take her with her.

The man swore his face tense and his mouth drawn downwards at the sobbing girl. Panic was flickering over his face. He roughly rubbed her on the back, but he was met with more tears.

He grabbed her under her legs and back, lifted and carried her close to his chest, "Come on, let's get you inside and we'll find your mom." She just started crying harder, and he shook his head, "I'm not cut out for this shit." She bounced with his brisk steps towards his house.

For once she didn't care if she was going to die in that house, because then maybe she could be with her mom and she would find peace. Even with her hot, bitter crying, she shivered in the cold rain and the man pulled her tighter against himself.

They reached his house in a matter of minutes, he shifted her slightly as her turned the knob to the front door and he kicked it open.

Clary's sobs had died down to little gasps of breath, her eyes still producing copious amounts of tears. They entered the wooden cabin, to a room that only could be described as cozy. There was a brick fireplace with two rocking chairs and a sofa surrounding it. It was currently lit, emanating a delicious warmth. The room had a huge red rug covering the floor, and bookcases lined the walls. There was a notable absence of a TV.

To the left, there lay a kitchen – the appliances tightly packed together. An old black stove, an off-white refrigerator, and one table with four mismatched chairs. To the right was a hallway with 4 doors, all painted white, all closed. It looked normal, not a single torture trap in sight.

He set her gently on one of the wooden rocking chairs. She saw her tracks of dripping water and mud all over the carpet. He followed her gaze and waved his hands, "It's fine." He looked at her anxiously, and she wiped her eyes, starting to feel like she was calming down.

She felt a calm acceptance for what was to come, or maybe she just was tired. Her arms relaxed around her torso, and she stared into the crackling fire.

He left her in the room, disappearing in the hallway. Her breathing quieted, and her tears abated. The warmth of the fire seeping under her clothes, and warming her, she realized that her teeth were still chattering. A small tremor was running all over her body. She looked quizzically at her shaking hands, she didn't feel cold.

"You should take of your shoes." Clary looked up to him, startled at his sudden entrance.

"Sorry." She muttered, still feeling guilty about ruining his rug. She unlaced her sneakers, and pulled them off her feet. He took them out of her hands and set them on the tile of the kitchen.

"I got some old clothes that might fit." He pointed towards the t-shirt and small sweat pants in the other rocking chair. It sat there along with a towel, "They were my sister's." The sound of the word "were" was soft, and hesitant. Clary felt something akin to hope.

"I-um," Clary was having a hard time thinking straight, "Thanks." She answered lamely.

"Can you walk alright?" He peered at her and she noticed that he was now wearing glasses, which changed the shape of his face completely. It softened his eyes and his eyebrows framed them without making him look angry. The dark circles under his eyes almost looked like bruises on his face, he looked world weary. Strangely, he looked gentle and bookish.

She shakily got up, and picked up the clothes, taking care to not dirty them with mud and rain water. The man led her to the hallway and opened the first door on the left. There was a small room, a cramped space with a bathtub, sink and toilet shoved in there.

"Go ahead and clean up." He said, before turning and leaving her alone.

"Thank you, sir." She called out to him, he turned to her, "It's Luke." He corrected and then left her as he headed towards the kitchen.

She closed and locked the door. She rested her new set of clothes on the counter and quickly undressed, her old clothes falling into a wet pile on the floor.

She hopped into the showering and felt the dirt and blood from the forest and the week she spent in the basement wash away. She felt the stings of the water on her cuts, and the soap made them burn. Her body shivered with pleasure at the change in temperature. She felt warm, and comfy.

The water started to turn lukewarm and she realized that she must have been in the shower for a while. She turned the faucets off and exited. Drying herself off, she glanced in the steam filled mirror and wiped it away.

Her blurred face came into focus, and the angry bruise on her cheek matched the ones on her arms and torso.

Looking away, more from her memories and not her appearance, she fumbled to put the clothes on. She had to draw the drawstring of the sweatpants all the way and tie them tightly around her waist. The T-shirt was several sizes too big, and one end hung slightly off her shoulder. Her petite stature was more noticeable in the oversized clothes.

She noticed her cuts seeping blood on her clothes and bit her lip nervously. She grabbed some tissue, and worked to clot the cuts on her legs. They were shallow, and new, most likely from her stumbles. The cuts from her father looked dark and possibly needed to be cleaned, but they weren't bleeding.

There was a knock on the door; she turned her head towards it.

"Are you okay in there?" Luke's muffled voice beat through.

"Uh, yeah." She answered, pulling the pant legs down, quickly combing her fingers through her hair and bringing it all to one side of her shoulder.

She opened the door and looked up at him. He tensed, scrutinizing her and she noticed that he was staring intently at her cheek, at her bruise. She looked down, blushing.

"We need to look at those cuts." He raised a clear plastic case with a red cross on it, a first aid kit. Clary opened her mouth in protest but Luke shook his head, "Sit on the toilet."

She sat down on the closed toilet, and Luke knelt down, placing the case on the floor. He snapped it opened, and took out the rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs. He set them down a carefully and fingered the blood stains on the pants.

"Sorry." Clary mumbled.

"It'll wash." He said gruffly, not looking her in the eye. He rolled up her pant legs, and exhaled loudly.

He dumped a liberal amount of alcohol on the swab, and then looked her in the eye. "This is going to hurt." He tilted his head, "What's your name."

"Clary."

"Okay, Clary, close your eyes if you need to." A crease formed between his eyebrows. He gently wiped at the cuts and they burned. Clary jerked her leg but he held it still, tightly.

It took ten minutes for him to clean all the cuts on both her arms and legs. After he finished bandaging her legs and arms, she felt like a mummy. Clary looked at the bandages critically, "You didn't need to bandage the whole leg."

"Most people say thank you." He grumbled, snapping the case shut and then putting it in the cabinet under the sink.

Clary blushed, "Thank you."

He eyed her, "So you do have manners. Here I thought you were raised by monkeys in the forest."

He held his hands out, and Clary grabbed it, pushing herself up to a standing position. He looked at the bruise on her face again, still appearing bothered by it.

"Did you fall?" He asked. "It look like you took a nosedive down a cliff."

She hesitated by licking her lips, and looked up. "Yeah." She said softly, happy to be provided with an out for an explanation. Her reply did not have the desired effect as his frown deepened on his face.

"I made some sandwiches." He changed the subject, walking down the hallway to the kitchen.

Clary nodded, and followed after him, the kitchen was brightly painted, yellow and had a large window. It probably was brighter on sunny days, but right now droplets raced down the panes.

Everything felt brighter and happier than any place at her home, and Luke had already did more for her in one day than her Dad did her whole life. He seemed normal, but Clary wasn't about to trust that feeling.

A large plate of sandwiches, with different types of meat, cut into triangles sat on the table.

"Sit down and eat." He ordered and Clary found herself immediately dropping in the closest seat. She regarded the sandwiches suspiciously, they could be poisoned. After a few moments, Luke sighed.

"Are you going to eat one?"

"I'm not that hungry." She lied. Her stomach then decided to growl at that moment. She glanced guiltily at Luke

"Suit yourself." Luke grabbed one of the roast beef triangles and took a bite.

Clary licked her lips, watching anxiously as he swallowed it whole. How bad could it be?

Hunger being her driving force, she shakily grabbed one with the same kind of meat. Better safe than sorry, she thought to herself.

She nibbled at the edge of one of the sandwiches, and her hunger pangs suddenly became more pronounced. With that, she took a large bite, devouring the whole sandwich in less than a minute. She grabbed another. She felt like there really was nothing that tasted this good as she chomped it down.

She began to stuff her face with a impressive vigor, working to consume as much as she could. She looked to Luke seeing that he was staring at her and she paused.

"When was the last time you ate?" He asked apprehensively.

She chewed for a second, and swallowed, suddenly feeling like a pig. She had already eaten six sandwiches and her stomach started to ache. She bit back on the nausea. She knew that she had rushed herself a bit too much.

"A while." She finally answered

A look flashed across Luke's face that she really could not decipher. She leaned back for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being clean, warm and fed. It had been weeks since she had all three. Her eyes felt distinctly heavy, and she looked at the grains of the wooden table with half lidded eyes.

She began to battle with herself to stay awake. There was something about the warmness of the room. This man was dangerous but her body didn't seem to agree, it was more relaxed then she was with her father.

She shook her head, trying to break away from the fogginess in her eyes.

"You can sleep in the guest room." She heard Luke's chair pushed back and him nudge her. She blinked, again shaking her head, "I'm ok." She answered.

"I'm starting to think you don't know what 'ok' means." Luke pointed out; she looked up at him, his eye crinkling at the corners.

She stayed seated, resolutely silent. He sighed, "I don't really want to carry you again. Just do this one thing without arguments, alright?" He asked.

Clary looked at him, taller, stronger – and wondered why he even bothered asking. She pulled herself up, and trudged to the hallway. Luke walked past her and opened the door to the spare bedroom. The walls were light blue; the furniture was made of an old, worn white wood. The bed looked inviting warm, with its light blue and white flowery comforter. It was decidedly feminine for someone who appeared all rough and tumble.

She heard the door close and looked to see Luke gone from the room. Thankfully, she didn't hear a lock engage, so she presumably was not trapped. She crawled into the bed, slipping under the covers. Before she knew it she was a sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for the wonderful response to my story. A special thanks to my first 5 reviewers, greygirl2358, I-Am-Nerd97, Elenothar, Bow down to me peasants, and YvonneWearsPyjamas! You guys are awesome! I wanted to update right quick for all you guys, so I wrote this in a day. Please read and review

When Clary opened her eyes, the world was blurred and slowly came into focus. The room was darkened, but she could see dark blue curtains pulled tight over the windows. A crease formed between her eyebrows, she remembered those curtains being closed.

She recalled a blurry memory of being woken a few hours before, and being asked questions about where she was, and what her name was. She assumed Luke was concerned about the knot on her head, and was checking for a concussion.

She had gone to bed, in the mid-afternoon, and woken twice into the night. She was embarrassed to realize she had slept through the day and night, and now it was presumably morning. She heard the deep timbre of Luke's voice outside her room, he sounded as if he was talking to someone. The house creaked and groaned, and she could hear machines whirring out in the fields.

She knew she didn't have much time before Luke decided to check on her, she glanced at an old wooden clock on the bedside table and it read a quarter till six. She took a deep breath, shook her head back and forth to wake herself up.

Clary swung her feet off the bed, and pushed herself up. She nearly fell to the floor, her muscles aching from all the running and her whole body weak. She cursed, steadying herself on the bedpost.

In the mirror, she saw her face with a purplish yellow bruise on her cheek and a large knot on her head. Framing her banged up face, was a wild rat's nest worth of hair. She pulled a face at her jungle woman look, and smoothed her hair with her hands, then pulling it back with the hair tie around her wrist.

She saw that Luke had placed her sneakers by the dresser and she slipped them on, hastily tying the laces. Then she opened the curtains, the sun pouring on her, causing her to squint. She unlatched the lock and slowly lifted the window open, cringing at every squeak it made.

When it was above her head, she let go, making sure it didn't drop. It stayed in place as she put her leg through and lifted herself over. She toed the air until she reached solid ground.

The sun was still rising but it was bright and she was easy to see. She looked to see tractors in the distance. She couldn't head south, back to her father's home, so she was forced to head in the direction of the fields. She ducked low, taking care to be out of view of the windows.

She heard two low voices as she walked past the window of the kitchen. She wasn't so sure that Luke was a killer any longer, but she wasn't willing to bet her life on it. She felt guilty repaying his kindness with leaving so suddenly, but she didn't owe him anything. He practically forced his care on her.

When she got past the house, she darted out to the corn stalks and slunk through the tall maze, effectively hiding her from plain view. She exhaled with relief, wiping the sweat that had beaded on her forehead.

She began walking in the direction of the corn's path, happy to see this would funnel her right into the forest. She felt a chill breeze and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. She wished she wasn't wearing the equivalent of pajamas.

Further in, the corn stalks were much closer together, and she began weaving her lank arms and legs through them. With a grunt, she struggled to get past a particularly dense part of the fields. She stuck her hand through the tight spot, attempting to push the plants out of the way.

Suddenly she felt someone grab her hand and pulled her forward, causing her trip and fall to the ground.

"Shit!" Clary yelled out, staring angrily at the floor before looking up to see a guy chuckling, amused.

"Who are you?" A tall boy, maybe a year older than her at the most, stood there with a piece of corn in his hand and a bucket on the floor next to his feet. He looked to be shucking the corn and putting the clean ones in the basket.

The boy had high cheekbones, piercing amber eyes, and pulled back blonde hair. Clary opened her mouth, and then shut it with a click feeling nervous all of a sudden.

"Do you speak?" He pulled at a sheaf of the corn and threw it to the ground, before gripping another. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His face and arms were tanned, and he had a slender but wiry build.

Clary pulled at the edge of her hair and began fiddling with it, "I-," she paused, letting go of her hair, "I'm just walking through."

"Well, Idris is that way." He pointed north, and then dumped the shucked corn into the half-filled bucket.

Clary bit her lip, "I'm not going to Idris."

He stopped pulling the corn a part and gave her a hard look, "I've never seen you in Hollendale."

Clary had remembered that place; she had been there once to pick up hunting supplies before her and her father headed to the mountains to hunt. It was a small town, about 20 miles from her home, and consisted of maybe a couple hundred people.

She frowned, "You ask a lot of questions. Are you going to let me pass?" He stared at her, and she realized she was playing with her hair again and let go.

"Do I look like a bridge troll?" He smirked. Clary has a very different idea of what he looked like, but she kept it to herself.

"You can say it, I look like an angel, a model, hmmm, am I getting close?" He taunted while sticking the corn in her face. She pulled back with a disgusted look on her face.

"Get over yourself." She stomped around him pushing angrily through the stalks. She heard crunching behind, but she kept on going.

"You don't need to be so touchy. If you're looking to get to Hollendale, it's quicker going west."

Clary kept walking; there was no way she could head west. Everyone would see her, just walking about in pajamas and bed head. Unfortunately, this guy following after her was putting a definite wedge in her plans of going unseen.

"Go back to your corn. I know where I'm going." She grumbled but could still hear him right behind her.

Out of nowhere, he was in front of her and she ran head first into his solid chest. She grunted, nearly stumbling back and he grabbed her arms, steadying her. "You look worse for wear. I got a truck; I can take you to Hollendale." He paused at her untrusting stare, "My name is Jace by the way."

"No thanks." Clary could barely breathe being this close to someone her age, of the opposite sex. She felt her ears heat up, and she shrugged his hands off her shoulders.

He glared at her, "It's not safe out here and you look like you're going to faint." He leaned forward, scrutinizing her pale complexion. She pulled back, drawing her hands up on her torso.

She always wondered why people mentioned how unsafe the forest was. She never had gotten serious injuries from the forest, and was more likely to get beat up at home than in the forest. As if on a cue, there was quick crunching behind them and they both looked quickly to the direction of the sound.

Out of the green stalks, Luke came through, spotting Clary his eyes darkened. "What are you doing out here?" He took a few long strides to her and grabbed her by the forearm; she flinched at the quick movement. This startled Luke who then released her.

He took a calming breath. Jace had his head cocked to the side and was lightly running his hands against the husk of corn. He no longer looked easy and relaxed and was staring at her with his lips pursed. The long columns of corn were still, and to Clary it felt like everyone and everything was judging her silently.

Luke threaded his hands through his hair and clenched his other fist, "I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you decide to gallivant across the field?" There was edge of disappointment in his tone. Clary was reminded of her father, who was almost always disappointed in her. The compounded with the implication that Luke has been with her most of the night made her angry if not more confused.

Clary scoffed and made to turn away, but Jace was now blocking the other direction out. He was definitely less relaxed, but had drawn himself to full height and almost looked like soldier. Clary hadn't even seen him move. She glared at him, "Move." She said rudely, she took one step to the side and he mirrored it.

"You should answer Luke's question." Her eyes widened. This guy was on the murderer's side? What had she walked into, a creepy compound?

"You don't understand." She heard a few steps and Luke was now in view.

"I don't think I understand either." He said in a low voice, scratching at his beard. Clary noticed he was wearing the same clothes from the day before and if possible he looked more haggard. Clary brought her finger to her mouth and bit her nail. The sun was higher now, and even though it was fall, she started to feel her shirt stick to her body from the heat.

"I couldn't stay locked in that room." Clary said with a glare, "I'm not obligated to stay anywhere." She glanced nervously around; she felt trapped, and continued biting her nail. Jace had his eyes on Luke, expectant, he had dropped the corn and his legs appeared to be ready to move quickly.

"I'm obligated to call the police." Luke raised an eyebrow with his countering argument. Clary bit her finger instead of her nail at this, and winced. She brought her hand down and clenched, suddenly feeling herself tremble. If he called the police, they would most definitely bring her back to her father.

All color drained from her face, and she pursed her lips together, deciding not to say anything. Luke sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.

"You were running a fever all night, and you're obviously still injured. I called the doctor-,"

"I don't need a doctor." Clary interrupted in a subdued tone. She heard Jace give a short laugh, and she narrowed her eyes, not making eye contact.

She looked down to see her wrapped up bandages peeking out through her sweat pants. She felt like her father, who was firmly against any outside influence when it came to the matters of health. They had weathered every sickness without aid or assistance. To be honest, she was actually terrified to see a doctor.

"You need a doctor." Luke said firmly, she looked up to see him looking at her sternly, his hair was messy but rested behind his ears neatly, and his gold rimmed glasses had slid down to the tips of his nose. His arms were folded across his chest, and again his whole being was intense.

Clary couldn't draw her eyes away from his hands, large and frightening. She bit her lip, and knew she really didn't have a choice.

"Ok." She said quietly, and Luke rubbed the back of his neck looking exhausted but relieved.

"What's going on?" Jace spoke up and Clary didn't look him in the eye. She heard Luke sigh, "I'll tell you later, alright?" She didn't hear Jace reply, and she resolutely stared at the soft dirt, dirtying up her already faded white and black sneakers.

Before long she found herself walking through the open field towards the house. Luke walked a step ahead of her, and he kept looking her way as if to make sure she didn't bolt off in the other direction. Clary had to admit she was tempted, but seeing how she was having troubles keeping up with Luke's stride while walking, she definitely wouldn't be able to outrun him.

They reached the house, and Luke opened the door and ushered her in before herself. She walked in, rubbing her muddy feet on the entrance rug and looked to the kitchen where she heard clinking of glass plates.

There was man in there, tall with short jet black hair, styled expertly. His eyes were almond shaped with a golden shade to them, and with lashes that made Clary feel jealous. His lips were twisted with a smirk, and placed the stack of plates he was holding back in the dishwasher. He dried his hand on a green tea towel by the sink.

He was wearing dark boot-cut jeans that framed a pair of black boots with silver lion emblems on them. He were a shiny button down shirt that was tucked into his jeans, with a belt that also has a matching lion buckle.

He walked up to her and laid gentle hands on her shoulder, looked extremely pleased, "Ah! Here's our little convict."

She flushed, "I'm not a convict."

She heard Luke laugh behind her, "You get more out of her than I do, Magnus." Magnus raised his nose, "You just lack subtlety." He replied.

Clary pushed passed them and sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen, looking at both men expectantly. She assumed that this man was the doctor or a lion tamer from Las Vegas, but either way, she just wanted to get this over with.

Magnus followed after her, this time grabbing at her chin and tilting her head. He pulled back her fringe to reveal the bump on her head and tsked in disapproval, "These bruises on such a pretty face, a crying shame." He looked to Luke, "Definitely not from a cliff dive." His voice was low, and Clary felt irritated at being talked about when she was sitting right there.

Luke ignored Magnus and opened the fridge, pulling out a bowl, plastic wrapped closed.

"It's nothing." Clary reassured but Luke responded by placing the bowl none-to-lightly by the microwave. Cary jumped at the noise, and Magnus began tugging her pant legs up.

Clary was startled to see red blotches seeping through, and Magnus shook his head while peeling the bandage away. She felt the cuts sting and the unraveling revealed the source of the blood, a particularly nasty cut caused by the chains that her father had whipped at her a week ago.

"Now how did you get this, hmm?" He eyed her with his penetrating gaze and she shifted nervously. He took a wet cloth and wiped away the dried blood, and then he took something that looked like a towelette from a plastic package and cleaned the wound. It burned, and she jerked like she did the day before.

He grabbed a black bag from the table and opened it, pulling out a kit. He assembled a shot, placing a sterilized needle in the plastic tube. "I'll need to numb the area so we can stitch this together."

Clary nodded, watching the shot curiously. She never had a shot, but she didn't really have an aversion to needles. He pushed it the skin near the area of the cut. It felt odd, feeling the metal slide in, but it didn't really hurt.

When he was finished he began to expertly sew the cut together, she only could feel phantom tugging.

She looked to Luke who was still heating stuff up in the microwave; he was leaning on the counter, watching Magnus as intently as she was.

When Magnus finished that, he check her other wounds, cleaned them and re-bandaged them. He checked her vitals with his cold stethoscope, a crease of concentration on his forehead. He stuck a thermometer in her ear, and then marked down the results in a note pad, which he had been marking most of the check-up.

He took her blood pressure and frowned at the results, "You really should eat; your blood pressure is way too low." He reproved. Luke was now at the table, placing steaming porridge on the table next to her.

She furrowed her brow. Why were they going to such great lengths to take care of her, maybe her father didn't want her dead, maybe he wanted them to return her to him? She shivered at that thought.

"Your fever has gone down, but your vitals are not where I want them." Magnus interrupted her musings, "Luke told me he found you in the field, but it appears you may have been in the field for days, even weeks, judging by your lack of nutrition." He said this carefully, and put his medical devices in his black bag.

"I don't feel hungry often." She lied, her hair falling across her face. She took the spoon from the bowl and stirred the brown sugar that was on top of it, into the porridge.

"You need to understand, you're not overweight." Magnus said suddenly his voice was firmer, and she looked at him startled then flushed, "I'm not anorexic." She replied, incensed at the implication. She took a healthy bite of her porridge as if to confirm the reply.

Luke sat in a chair next to her, leaning back; he looked like a weary pile of bones. He scrubbed his face, "Excuse Magnus here, he's just trying to get answers." He gave her a wry smile, "Hell, I'm trying to get answers, but you're pretty intent of being afraid of me."

Magnus stood up, "If you weren't a grump most of the time, maybe she would warm up."

"I'm not afraid!" She blurted out; annoyed with them talking again, like she wasn't there. It was mostly an automatic response, because fear in her family was met with punishment.

Magnus raised an eyebrow, "You jumped out a window a few hours ago."

Clary licked her lips, "I decided my stay was over and you-." She looked to Luke and then broke off, unsure if she should even mention what he already knows. She then took another bite of her porridge to cover her words; she decided that whatever Luke made was amazing. It melted in her mouth and she wished both with just leave her to eat in peace.

"And I what?" Luke regarded her eating with approval, but appeared unsettled with her tense recoil to any movement he made towards her.

She huffed, finally resigned to all these mind games, "Don't act like you don't know." She glared at her bowl, and flipped the porridge around on her spoon and then continued eating.

She could hear Luke sigh, and his hand strummed the table impatiently. "I really don't."

"Long lost daughter!" Magnus slapped the table with decisiveness, and both Luke and Clary jerked their heads in his direction.

"What?! No?!" Clary burst out, gaping like a fish.

Magnus smirked, "Well, if you're not going to answer the question then I'll keep throwing out suggestions."

Clary's face tightened, "You were sent to kill me, and stop acting like that's not true!" Magnus dropped his bag and Luke opened his mouth.

"What?!" His voice was raised, and Clary watch horror and disgust battling on his face. His eyebrows were knit tightly together and both his hands clenched. The severity of surprise caused her to falter a bit.

"I thought, I mean." She stopped, could she have been wrong. Magnus picked up his bag and dropped it on the table, "Clary." There was an urgent tone, to the doctor's previously light voice. It unsettled her.

"I mean why would you go through so much trouble to-," She broke off again, looking confused at both men. Luke stood up, and then got really close to her, crouching slightly so that they were eye level. He place his hand tightly on her shoulder.

"_Who _would send someone to kill you?" Clary's heart was beating faster. She couldn't tell them about her father, they would call the police, but he was above the police. He was manipulative, he could find her still, and he could hurt her brother. She had no proof.

Clary looked away, and Luke shook her lightly, "Hey, it's important. We can help you."

His gaze was soft, and protective – and she wondered why he cared so much. It was easier to think of him as a killer than someone who was genuinely trying to help her. Even if he could help her, he would just become a target, and she couldn't do that to him. She couldn't be responsible for another death.

Her eyes pricked, and she felt them get watery, "I can't say." She looked down.

Luke sighed; it was heavy and laden with exhaustion. His hand loosened on her shoulder. He got up and took her now empty bowl, and dropping it into the sink.

The front door opened and Jace walked into view, his hair shiny blonde, and his face red from working in the field. His arms were toned, and showing nicely as he lugged in a bucket of corn in, "The rest is being shipped to Hollendale. Here's the bucket you asked for." He dropped the bucket on the kitchen floor and wiped his hands on his jeans.

He then looked around, his angular face twisted in confusion at the silent, tense atmosphere. Magnus was staring at Jace with a pinched look on his face. Luke wasn't even looking in his direction, staring determinedly at the sink.

His amber eyes met Clary's and Clary felt herself blush, feeling stupid and tongue-tied whenever he was around. She quickly looked down.

"Who is she, Luke?" Jace seemed to not care that Luke didn't look like he was in the mood to talk. Clary bit her lip nervously, regarding the exchange.

Luke turned around and gave her a look, before leveling his glance at Jace, "She'll be staying here for a while."

"What, no-," She was cut off with a sharp look from Luke.

"Are you going to tell me who this person is?" Luke asked loudly, and Clary went silent. He shook his head, "It's out of the question then, you'll stay here and we'll figure this out." He grumbled before leaving the room, and then she heard a muffled slam as he exited the house.

Magnus sighed, "Don't mind him; you're an expert at getting under his skin, Clary." He gave her a wink, "He gets a little protective with people in you circumstances."

"What do you mean?" She looked to Magnus and then to Jace who seemed to be fully aware of what Magnus was talking about.

Jace looked out the window, "There's a guest house a mile that way, Luke is letting me stay there when he found out about my mother turning me out." He gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I was stealing his food from his crops when he found me."

Magnus laughed, "You still steal his crops."

"I have permission." He said coloring at this, but then looked to Clary, "He just doesn't like seeing people defenseless, I guess. I mean I could have handled myself, but it's nice, to have a job and a place to stay." The way Jace spoke about Luke was fond, and grateful. It made his hard features soften.

"Although, Clary particularly has hit a nerve, you must remind him of someone." Magnus said with a knowing gaze at Clary. Clary had no idea what he was talking about. Tired of all the riddles, and the awkwardness she felt for having an all too handsome boy in the kitchen, she got up quickly.

"I-gotta go," She paused, "Sleep." She finished lamely.

Magnus clapped at this, "Wonderful, we need to get you better quick. Luke's running himself ragged." He tsked and Clary tried to smother her guilt at putting Luke through so much. She nodded at this, and didn't look either in the eye.

She hurriedly pushed back Jace and entered the guest room through the hallway, before shutting the door. She slid to the ground and took a deep breath.

She would just stay here a few days, until they let their guard down and then she would get away. She reasoned that a few days to get better, she would have enough energy to disappear without either catching her.


	3. Chapter 3

Clary bolted awake, her chest heaving as she took huge gulps of air in. Her hair stuck to her face and it was heavy with sweat. She ran her hands shakily over her face, momentarily forgetting where she was. Her surroundings were the same calm blue walls. Taking one large inhale and then plopping into her pillows again, she hugged herself in an effort to calm down.

Her dreams had always been strange before, but now they were torturous. This was the third time she had awoken to a violent nightmare. She thanked God that she was not the type to scream, years of practice on smothering that instinct had paid off. She would've hated waking up the other tenants of the house with her wailing.

Seeing the sun just start to peak over the mountains, she figured that four AM could not possibly be too early to be up and about on a farm. She got up and exited the room, cringing at the groan from the door when she opened it. The house was quiet, but everything squeaked and moaned from the walls to the wooden floor boards under the weight of her feet.

She took care to tread lightly past Luke's room, which was at the end of the hallway. There was no light under the door, and she assumed that he was still asleep.

She surveyed the kitchen before entering and then began searching the cabinets for some type of tea. She found a box of green tea packets and began preparing it herself. She turned the heat on the stove, and set the water to boil. She thought of her mother when she made tea, the swirling heat from boiling water in the kettle, and the way the brown color seeped into the clear liquid from the bobbing tea bag. She found a mug and began pouring the contents into it.

"I didn't expect you to be up this early." A gravelly voice behind her caused her to jog the tea kettle from the mug, and then pour scalding water on her hand. She then dropped both the mug and it shattered on the floor. With cry of pain, she quickly set the kettle back on the stove. Biting her lip, she waved her hand around trying to shake off the sting.

Suddenly a strong hand clamped around her wrist and dragged her to the sink. She instinctively try to pull from the grasp, yelling out in terror. Luke's steady blue eyes met with her panicked green ones. She flinched at the intensity of his gaze.

"Clary, we need to get your hand under water." He said urgently, then reached to the sink and turned it on. He tugged her hand under, the edge of her sleeve getting wet. He rolled it up, hissing at the blistering redness of her skin.

He let go of her arm and pointed at her nose, "Keep that under there, I'm getting the first aid kit." Clary could only nod, her heart still beating up in her throat. The water ran over her hands, she felt relief as the sting started to dull. After a minute, Luke was back with the kit, and he guided her to a chair. She wanted to stay under the water longer, as the sting returned back full force.

Luke put the kit on the ground and knelt down, gently holding her hands by the fingers. His body was tense, and he didn't say a word. Roughly, he pulled the burn salve out of the box and opened it, applied a massive glob to her hand.

His mouth was set in a grim straight line, and his eyebrows furrowed. She wished that he would say something.

"I can do that, you don't have to." She offered. He must be getting tired of always trying to patch her up. Luke hummed, or more like grumbled, in response but continued on.

Clary glanced to the shattered green mug, and then looked at Luke, still applying copious amount of salve to her hand

She opened her mouth, and closed it, then opened again, "I'm sorry about the mug." She apologized and Luke paused, his face getting tighter.

"I don't care about the mug." He said gruffly, and pulled out some bandage, extending it out and cutting it with his teeth. He continued in silence, carefully wrapping the bandage around her limp hand. Clary bit at her nail on her other hand. "I should've asked you if I could make tea."

"Clary." His voice was sharp, and she pulled her hand away. She turned her head, as if she was bracing herself for his reaction. She heard him exhale slowly, and then pull her hand towards him, "Clary." He began much calmer, "Stop apologizing." Clary hesitantly looked at him as he finished the bandaging patting the ends tightly on. "I already feel horrible scaring you like that." He muttered.

Clary could tell he felt terrible about startling her and in turn causing her to burn herself, but she knew that no matter what she was always a klutz. She caused problems wherever she went, and she wanted to reassure him that it wasn't his fault. She could also thank him for bandaging her arm, but her tongue felt heavy as his serious eyes examined her face.

"I'll have Magnus look at it later."

"I'm fine." She mumbled.

Luke shook his head, "Of course you are." He put everything back in the box, and then clicked it shut. He stood up, groaning a bit, and straightened his back with a crack. He placed the box on the table and grabbed a broom and began sweeping the glass in a pile.

Clary got up but he glared at her, "Sit, I can do this."

Clary sighed and sat down, "I'll buy you a new one." Luke just snorted.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't care. I have too many anyways." He scooped up the glass and discarded it in the trash. "Now, let's see if I can pour this tea without causing second degree burns."

Clary put her full concentration on tracing the grains on the table. She shifted, uncomfortable in the room that was gradually feeling stuffy. Luke set a new mug of tea in front of her, and she quietly thanked him.

"Sugar?" He asked, and she took the proffered sugar from his hands, spilling more than she should in the cup. She remembered her mother always scolding her about cavities because of her insatiable sweet tooth.

"Jace mentioned he wanted to take you to town, to show you around."

She took a sip of her tea and looked to Luke, who was focused on stirring his own mug of tea. His hair was in every which way. He was wearing a rumpled white t-shirt and red checkered pajama pants.

His face was unreadable. He was acting like nothing happened, and Clary inwardly cringed at all her stupid reactions to him trying to help him. She could be so stupid sometimes.

"Clary?" Luke asked, and Clary blinked.

"Oh, yeah – I guess." She answered, before realizing she just agreed to spend the day with that egotistical guy from the corn field. Luke quirked a smile, looking pleased or maybe relieved that she was going to town.

Clary swallowed a sigh; she could not take it back now. Luke probably just wanted the house to himself for a change.

He took a large gulp from his tea, finishing it off and then stood up. "I'm happy that you and Jace are getting a long." He smiled again, and Clary struggled keep her face straight because she was definitely not friends with Jace.

"He's been here for almost six months, good worker, good kid." Luke's voice was oddly tinged with pride and Clary felt a twinge of jealousy for Jace. If she were honest, she wished someone would be proud of her.

Clary got up, and placed her mug gingerly in the sink, "I'm going to get ready." She said before hurriedly exiting the room.

Clary heard a knock on her door, and it swung opened, "You ready?" Jace appeared in the doorway. His hair pulled in a short pony tailed. Today, he was wearing a T-shirt with what she assumed was band name emblazoned on the front. He was wearing dark black jeans, and his fingers were linked in the pockets.

Clary, who had been lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, turned to glare at him, "What's the point of knocking if you're going just going to open the door?" Getting up, she pulled her hair quickly in a ponytail.

Jace smiled charmingly, and leaned against the door frame, "Trying to hide something?"

Clary felt her face turning red at the insinuation, "Let's just go." She muttered, shouldering him out of the door way. She trudged outside and saw a red truck parked in front of the house.

It looked older, but it relatively good condition. The ends of the car were covered in mud, and there crates stack in the back. Clary realized that she had not been driven anywhere in almost a year. She bit at her nail, looking out to the road anxiously.

"Like my ride?" Jace walked over to the driver's side, and patted the top of his car, "Runs great, just replaced a belt the other day with Luke."

Clary opened the door and hopped in, not saying a word. She never really had much interest in cars.

Jace got in and started the car, he paused and turned to her. "Seat belts." He said while pulling his over his chest. Clary complied, silently, hearing the click in the quiet truck made her feel claustrophobic. She pulled at the edge of the seatbelt, trying to loosen it.

From the corner of her eye she could see Jace, raising his eyebrows in confusion, "You don't have to go, if you don't want to."

"I don't want to." She paused, "But that's not true, I have to go."

Jace was starting to look frustrated, a frown formed on his face. "What?"

"Luke needs a break." She stared at the dashboard, daring not to look at Jace. She heard Jace shift, the engine rumbled as he started the car.

"I don't think Luke minds." He pulled out of the driveway, the gravel crackling under the tires. His voice was lower, and rolled his shoulders.

"Luke likes you." Clary pointed out, the dirt road fed into a paved one that curved around the forest. Clary quietly took note of this, wondering the best direction she could escape.

"What's not to like?" He said innocently, and Clary snorted. There was a pregnant pause, as they drove past the corn and alfalfa fields. It was pretty, seeing it from here – Clary could imagine sitting on the top of the hill, just looking out, with the sun beating on her face.

She wondered what it'd be like, to be idle, and not have anyone care. Whenever she was home, she felt as if she had to be doing something. With good reason, her father didn't take kindly seeing her lounging around.

"You don't seem to like me, what did I ever do to you?" Jace asked.

Clary turned to him. Jace gripped the steering wheel, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Nothing." She paused, rolling the word on her tongue. She didn't fully understand why she was always particularly harsh with him. He just seemed to bother her for some reason. "I don't like anyone." Jace looked at her, and she put her nail in her mouth, nibbling at it.

"You're certainly a puzzle, Clary." Jace said, his lips curved into a smile, as if he was pleased with her. Clary felt her stomach flip-flop, and she looked at the dashboard.

She leaned forward and turned on the radio drowning out any sound that she could have made. The windows reverberated at the country music that was now blaring out of the speakers.

She eyed Jace who kept on driving; his hands tapped the steering wheel with the beat of the song.

It wasn't long till they started to see buildings; some of them looked old and some looked new. Even though it was a town, there were still plenty of trees. The leaves were starting to turn color and dropping to the sidewalks and the asphalt.

It was one hundred times prettier than Idris, which was primarily steel skyscrapers and concrete everything. He pulled into a parking lot that was adjacent to what look like a plain brown building.

Jace parked right next to an entrance with a big red-lettered sign over it labeled "Loading". He switched to park, and raised an eyebrow at her, "Here's the money making part." He exited the car and Clary followed him to the back of the truck.

There were large crates, most likely filled with the all of Luke's crops. Jace opened the truck and pulled the handcart out setting on the floor. He hoisted up the crates and started to stack them on the dolly.

"Do you need help?" Clary pulled at her sleeve. She hated standing still, and watching someone do all the work. Jace chuckled, "I'm under strict orders to prevent you from any manual labor."

Clary felt a rise of anger from this, knowing these orders were coming from Luke who had a tendency to baby her. He gives Jace a house and a job, and he makes her tea. It was infuriating.

"Because I'm a girl?!" Clary spat.

Jace dropped another crate down, and then folded his arms across his chest. "No, it's because you're practically half mummy, Cleopatra." He eye her bandaged hand, and Clary blushed.

He stepped on the back of the hand cart and tilted it, "Now would our budding feminist mind opening the door for me?"

Clary hurried to the door and opened it, while Jace rolled past her. His hair had dropped from his pony tail, framing his face. Clary couldn't help eyes gravitating to his straining muscles on his arms, and she felt her heart flutter a bit.

Clary scrunched up her nose. It was ridiculous that she kept on reacting this way. The more she knew him, the less attractive he got. At least, that is what she was trying to convince herself.

It took a few runs to load all the crates into the warehouse, when they finished – they walked to the other side of the warehouse to a hallway. The hallway led to an office area. There was an older woman with a desk right outside a wooden double-door office.

"Hey, Janice – is Mr. Santiago in?" Jace asked. The lady with short cropped gray hair, smiled her ruby red lips at Jace. "Oh, Hi, Hun! Yes, he's in – I'll just page his phone." She tapped at the phone with her long fake nail, also in the color of ruby red.

"Yes?" A voice that could only be described as caramel-y came over the intercom.

"Mr. Wayland is here to see you."

"Perfect, have him come right in."

The lady winked at Jace, and Jace smiled, "Thank you, Janice." He then entered Santiago's office. Clary followed him close; her arms were crossed across her chest. She wished she had stayed in the car.

The first thing that surprised her was Mr. Santiago. He looked a lot younger than she thought. He stood up and buttoned his expertly tailored charcoal suit. He wore a button up purple shirt under it, with the top two buttons unbuttoned. His black hair was stylishly slick back. Clary thought he looked a little like a shark.

Clary looked at her loose fit long-sleeved t-shirt and her baggy jeans, clothes that Luke had let her borrow. She felt tragically underdressed.

Jace handed him a clip board, and he signed it without looking at it, his whole attention on Clary. "You brought your girlfriend?" He didn't sound angry about it.

"I'm not his girlfriend." She said with such vehemence, that she gave an apologetic look to Jace.

"She's been helping out on Luke's farm the past few days." Jace said, he fiddled with the clipboard. Clary wondered at his vagueness, but was thankful for it. She didn't really want everyone to know she was a runaway.

Santiago approached her and held out his hand, "Raphael.' Clary shook it with her un-bandaged hand.

"Clary." She said in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

Raphael reach in his pocket inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope, a turned to Jace and handed it to him. Jace opened, and furrowed his brow. "Sir, this isn't the amount due for the shipment."

Raphael pursed his lips, "Yes, I took out a reduction for the last shipment. It was whole crate short."

"I counted, the number was right." Jace replied, shaking his envelope, "And this is whole grand short!"

"I've heard about you Jace, a thief." Raphael sat down, and steepled his hands, "But I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because Luke trusted you. I'm not so sure anymore." Raphael's voice was hard, and Clary was reminded of her father. She took a few steps back, closer to the door.

"I didn't steal anything." Jace's face was rapidly turning red and his jaw was clenched.

"I never agreed with Luke taking in hoodlums, I told him my reservations." Raphael looked at Jace with disgust, and then his eyes met Clary, "And now he's added another one, and she looked like she got in a fight, how un-ladylike."

"You don't know anything about her." Jace growled, looking like he was about to punch Raphael in the face. Clary move quickly and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Jace. Let's go."

Jace looked to her, and then to Raphael's smug face. He exhaled loudly and then gave in, "Thank you, Mr. Santiago. I apologize for the confusion."

Raphael looked very happy with this admission, "Good boy. Make sure Luke is aware of the shortage, so he can add it to the next shipment as an apology."

Jace clenched his fist, crumpling the envelope. Clary tugged at his arm again. Jace gave a terse nod to Raphael and the both left.

Jace pulled his arm from Clary's grasp and quickly walked ahead. Clary could barely keep up with his quick pace. When they reached the car, Jace took his place in the driver's seat, and her in the passenger's. Jace was breathing heavily, and Clary looked at him apprehensively. She wasn't sure what to say.

Suddenly, Jace started slapping the steering wheel hard, yelling out. He looked like a mad man, and Clary felt herself pushing against the window, as far from his as possible.

After a few moments he stopped, practically wringing the steering wheel. "This was a pipe dream." Jace said, his voice so low that she could barely hear it.

"What do you mean?" She wanted to do something to comfort him, but she never had that type of practice. She and her family were always forced to just suck it up and move on.

"Living with Luke is great," He shook his head, "But I'm hurting his business. This would never have happened-,"

"Don't say that?!" Clary interrupted. She knew she had only known them for a day, but Luke and Jace were right. If that broke, then what could work? Clary had spent all morning idealizing their perfect relationship, and now he wanted to leave, was he stupid?

Jace looked at her, his eyes were red-rimmed and irritated but there were no tears. The amber color almost looked like bright yellow cat eyes. "I can't mess this up, Luke it too good of a person for some Kid to fuck it up."

Clary raised her eyebrows, "But you didn't steal the crate." It was a half question, half statement.

"Of course not." Jace rubbed the back of his neck, "But that's Luke's biggest client-,"

"Maybe Luke will work it out."

Jace gave her a confused look, "I distinctly remember a girl hobbling like a zombie through the field trying to escape the same place she is telling me to stay."

Clary scowled, "It's not the same thing." She hardly knew Luke, and Luke obviously cared about Jace for him to just run off. He wouldn't miss her if she left. She was just here to appease Luke's conscience.

"I'll talk to Luke." Jace said, his voice returning to its stronger self. He started the car up and exited the parking lot, "We have one more small shipment to a small grocer downtown. You'll like the Lightwoods."

Clary was pretty damn tired of meeting new people, especially if they were anything like Raphael. They reached the grocer in no time. The building was small, but very clean. Clary did her best to open doors, and help Jace out. He was as un-talkative as they come since leaving the warehouse.

A teenager about the same age as Jace walked from the register to meet them. He was dressed in jeans and a green polo with "Lightwood Grocers" stitched on the pocket.

"Hey." He said simply, glancing at Clary and then back at Jace, "You giving me work?"

Jace dropping the box in the kid's hands, and he grunted, "Jesus, Jace – what you put in here?"

"Alec, I put a few weights in there, just so you could bulk up a bit." Jace smirked.

Alec dropped the box at a nearby counter, "Not all of us can look like a freakin' model all the time."

Clary had to disagree because both Jace and Alex were typical look hot boys. Alec had dark black hair and stunning blue eyes. His face was angular, and he was about the same height as Jace, just a little bit lankier.

"Who's the chick?" Alec eyed her suspiciously.

"Clary, she's staying with Luke for a while." Jace answered, dropping clipboard on the counter. He didn't look at her, and Clary felt a little bit angry. He was acting broody, and different. It wasn't the same when he was angry after the visit with Raphael; it was like a devil-may-care attitude.

"Thought you picked up a hitchhiker." Alec said with a smile. Jace snorted, and Clary clenched both her hands to a fist.

"I'm right here." She said, her voice tight.

"Ignore them, they never grew up." A thankfully feminine voice echoed behind Clary. She turned around to see a beautiful girl with long brown hair, green eyes and full lips walking towards her. She were a shimmery blouse, tucked into a pencil skirt, with silvery stilettos.

"Isabelle, nice to meet you." Clary took the girl's perfectly manicured hand and shook it, "Clary." She said softly, and the let go of her hand.

The girl gasped, "Oh, I love your hair! Is this natural?" She ran her hand down her hair and Clary blushed.

"Yes, it's my mother's hair color."

Isabelle shook her head regretfully, "The only time I get red hair is from a bottle." She peered at her close, "Are you new in town?"

"I'm staying with Luke."Clary wanted to add that it wasn't for long, but didn't want to give away even a hint of a plan to Jace.

"Oh, Luke, he's pretty handsome." She said with a laugh, "In roguish, older man kind of way."

"Isabelle!" Jace exclaimed, with a look of disgust.

Isabelle stuck her tongue out of his, "That's what you get for being a tool."

"I wasn't being a tool." Jace defended with a look to Clary, but she would have to agree with Isabelle. Jace sighed, "Raphael was being a dick."

Alec hopped up to sit on the counter and swung his legs, "What's new? He's like the Lex Luthor of the town."

"Geek." Isabelle muttered.

"Princess." Alec countered.

"Thank you." Isabelle flipped her hair, and Alec groaned, "Can you go away!"

"Not until Clary promises to go shopping with me this week." Isabelle looked expectantly to Clary. Clary adjusted her feet uncomfortably.

"I don't really care about clothes."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, "You are in desperate need of a makeover, girl. Please, it's my calling." She begged.

Clary bit her lip. "I don't really have any money."

"Not a problem, think of it as a welcome gift!" Isabelle exclaimed and Clary shrugged.

"Perfect! I think we should meet tomorrow, I'll drop by Luke's around 11." Isabelle had her phone whipped out, muttering these plans while tapping it in her planner. Her silver bangles on her wrist were jingling at her excited typing.

Clary did not know what she just got herself into. She noticed Jace and Alec had walked to the produce section and were finished placing the stock out. They were talking too low for her to hear.

"Oh my God, I just got a text from Amy!" Isabelle had her hand over her mouth, "Sorry Clary, got to go, date emergency!"

Before Clary could respond, Isabelle was out the door. A hand rested on her should and she jumped.

"Woah, just me!" Jace said, and Clary stepped out of his way.

"Are we done?" She asked.

Jace looked calmer now, and was no longer acting like she wasn't there, which was relief. When she realized she was relieved, she frowned. Why did it matter if his attention was on her or not?

"Let's get out of here. See ya, Alec."

Alec gave a wave, but didn't acknowledge Clary. She could care less was he thought.

After a few stops at landmarks and shops, they had pretty much seen most of the small town. Jace and she had headed on the long winding road, and the sun started to set. Clary yawned feeling tired from all the stressful events.

They reached Luke's house a little bit after 7PM. Jace had gotten quieter as they approached the house. When they got inside, the fireplace was on and the place smelled like chili. They entered the kitchen to see Luke and Magnus eating bowls of chili at the table.

Clary sighed at the sight. She forgot that Luke was going to call Magnus about her hand. She walked to the Chili pot and grabbed a bowl.

"Let me get that for you." Luke materialized beside her and grabbed the bowl from her hand.

"I'm not an invalid." Clary said grumpily. Luke smiled at her, "Go have Magnus check your burn."

Clary wanted to argue, but felt too exhausted to have any more confrontations today. She sat next to Magnus.

"Let's have a look." Magnus took her hand, and carefully unwrapped the bandage. He moved tilted her arm in several directions, "Hmmm, looks like it's healing well. Just keep it bandaged for the next few days, and it should be fine."

"I know." Clary answered rudely, her face twisting in disgust. What a waste of time, Luke should of listened to her. Magnus raised an eyebrow, "Sassy aren't you." He had a light reproach in his tone.

Clary ducked her head, mortified of forgetting her place, "Sorry." She tensed up and glanced at Luke, who was grabbing a spoon from the drawer. Otherwise, he had not reaction to her rudeness.

Magnus laughed, "No, none of that." He shook her on the shoulder, loosening her up. "It's comforting to see you act your age for once." He took a bite of his chili as Luke set a bowl in front of her.

"How was Hollendale?" Luke smiled but it did not reach his eyes, there was a noticeable strain to his politeness. Clary licked her lips, suddenly feeling anxious.

She glanced at Jace, who was pouring himself chili, and then looked back at Luke, "It was alright."

Luke looked suddenly suspicious, he lifted his chin. He glanced at Clary then Jace over his glasses, and then took a seat. Jace seated himself on the opposite side of Luke, across from Clary.

"Did you meet any of the kids in the town?" There was a forced nonchalance to Luke's tone, but Clary knew an interrogation when she saw one.

Clary pulled a face at the word "kids" but nodded, "Yeah, Isabelle Lightwood was nice."

Magnus chuckled, "Of course you met Isabelle already. Does she still have a crush on Luke?"

Clary paused, her spoon in midair.

"Magnus, really?" Luke sputtered, looking very embarrassed, "How was Raphael?" he asked in order to change the subject. Clary took a bite of her chili in order to stall. Jace didn't answer, and Clary glared at him. Wasn't he going to tell Luke what happened? He was making her do all the talking, little bastard.

Jace didn't meet her eyes, staring at his bowl with a stubborn determination.

Luke narrowed his eyes, "What happened, now?"

Clary shrugged, and pushed her food around.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Luke's question caught her by surprise, and she nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. She could handle herself.

"I'm fine." She bit out.

Luke threw his spoon down, his face twisted to a sour expression. "What is that supposed to mean, all the times you said you were fine, you weren't."

Clary waved her bandaged hand around, "I said I was fine with this, and look no need for a doctor!" She returned to her food and poked violently at some ground beef, "I'm not a fucking little girl."

Luke growled but Magnus interrupted his tirade, "Luke she's fine. She's not Amartis, she is not Joc-,"

"Magnus, stay out of this." He glared at Jace, "What happened?"

Jace shifted, and looked at Luke, "Can I talk to you in the living room?" He said quietly. Luke pressed his lips tightly together, and nodded. Clary almost sighed with relief, not used to seeing Luke so on edge. He was usually more calm, and less frenzied.

They both got up and exited the room.

Magnus looked unconcerned, and looked to Clary, "Raphael is definitely a handsome man, but he's like Lucifer himself."

Clary nodded, "He shortchanged Luke because of Jace." She stated, it was easier telling Magnus this. It didn't really affect him. She was never good at breaking the news to anyone.

Magnus shook his head, "Bastard."

Clary could hear whispering, but the words were indistinct. Her heart was beating fast, she wondered if Jace was telling the whole story. Would Luke think that Jace stole a crate, or would he believe Jace? She looked at her chili and felt her stomach turned, suddenly not feeling hungry any longer.

She pushed her bowl forward, and began biting her nail with renewed vigor.

"As much as I believe that keratin is a great source of vitamins for your body, you really should eat your whole dinner." Magnus said pointedly to Clary.

"I'm not hungry." Clary played with a loose thread of her sleeve.

"No, that is a terrible idea!" Luke's voice bellowed through the house and Clary jumped. Her eyes darted to the direction of the living room like a scared rabbit.

"Luke, I have to." She could hear Jace's sigh, a resigned defeat in his tone.

"No. I'll take care of it."

"If you defend me, it'll make it worse."

"I really don't give a damn. You're more important than all this shit, you understand me?"

There was a loud sigh of frustration, and heavy footfalls. The front door creaked opened and then slammed shut. Clary let go of her breath, not realizing she hadn't been breathing.

Magnus got up, "I think that's my cue to leave." He pointed at her, "Finish you dinner, and good night." He winked and grabbed his medical bag. He went to the living room, said his good bye and left.

Clary stared at her bowl for a few minutes, feeling tense and agitated. She hated when people were fighting and upset. She didn't know how she had gotten emotionally invested in a few short days.

She took her bowl and dumped its contents into the trash, then dropped the bowl in the sink. She tentatively approached the living room, to see Luke staring blankly into leather bound "A Tale of Two Cities." His eyes weren't moving back and forth, and he obviously wasn't reading it.

He looked like he hadn't been sleeping, dark smudges at the bottom of his eyes.

Clary looked at the bookshelves, and pulled out "Pride and Preudice" before sitting in the chair next to him. She slipped off her sneakers and brought her feet on the chair, curling up next to the fire.

Luke didn't say a word, obviously still upset, but he appeared to have relaxed incrementally at Clary sitting in the chair beside him. Clary opened her book, readying herself to get lost in Jane Austen's world.

A/N: Thank you for all your reviews and kind words! You all are awesome. If you have any questions or characters you would like to see, feel free to let me know. Thank you! Please read and review!


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